


There Are Many Rooms

by poisontaster



Category: Heroes (TV)
Genre: M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Secret Relationship, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-12-21
Updated: 2006-12-21
Packaged: 2018-02-15 18:36:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2239176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poisontaster/pseuds/poisontaster
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>He's been coming to Audrey's House for years, since his father brought him that first time when he was sixteen.  There's a certain irony to it, but it's the one place he's been able to completely relax.  Be himself.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	There Are Many Rooms

**Author's Note:**

> _In my Father's house are many mansions: if it were not so, I would have told you. I go to prepare a place for you._ \- John 14:2 (KJV)

"Here you are, sir." The valet—Owen—opens the door of Nathan's car for him and gestures with his other hand toward the house.

Nathan's smile is taut—his 'busy' smile, Heidi calls it. "Thank you, Owen," he says and steps out onto the rose colored cement of the walk. His legs are tense; his knee locks on his first step, making it both stiff and awkward.

Tires swish as Owen takes Nathan's car around to whatever spot such things are secreted so that there's no evidence of his being here, no license plate to be photographed by nosy paparazzi. Discretion is the specialty of the house and Nathan—and the others—pay generously for the privilege.

The porter opens the door for him wordlessly but with a short nod of recognition.

"Clay," Nathan greets him.

"Sir," Clay replies.

Always 'sir'. Never 'Nathan', even though he's been coming here regularly for most of his adult life. Not even a Mr. Petrelli, though he has no doubts that they know exactly who he is. Especially now that his face is plastered all across the city and on every television station besides. The guarantee of anonymity feels good. Comfortable, like well worn pajamas. No matter how famous he becomes, he is still no one here and that…that feels like relief.

Audrey is waiting for him in the lobby. He knows she must have duties—this is a business, after all—but she's always here when he arrives and her warm smile is never impatient, never gives any indication that she's less than wholeheartedly glad to see him and has nothing else to do but attend him.

"You're looking well," she says kindly. Kind, because Nathan knows he looks nothing of the sort. He's tired—so tired—and it shows. His make-up artist is on the verge of a nervous breakdown and blames him entirely.

"Thank you," he says, taking her extended hand and brushing his lips lightly across the knuckles. "Is everything ready?"

Audrey feigns outrage. "Of course!" she says, fingers fluttering at her throat. "You wound me deeply with such questions."

"That is…never my intention," Nathan apologizes and she turns playful again, slapping his fingers.

"Such a gentleman," she grins. She hands him a key on a length of ribbon. "No, everything is just as you've asked. And waiting for you. As usual." She tips her head to one side and looks at him consideringly. "Sure you're not bored yet?"

Nathan laughs, deep and heartfelt. "Now, Audrey," he says. "How could I ever get bored with all of this at my disposal?" He gestures at the enormous lobby. The décor is as tasteful as it is opulent, sensual. Nothing but the best for his father; nothing but the best for his sons.

_Come on, Nathan, any one you want. You just pick her out, and she's yours._

_Aw, Dad…_

"You say the sweetest things." Audrey rises on tiptoe to kiss his cheek, a brush like a moth's wings. "Now go on up. Don't keep him waiting."

"Never."

As he mounts the stairs, Nathan's aware of his nervousness, a low level flutter in his stomach. It's always like this. He's been coming to Audrey's House for years, since his father brought him that first time when he was sixteen. There's a certain irony to it, but it's the one place he's been able to completely relax. Be himself.

The ribbon is stamped with a gold number nine. Stopping in front of the matching door, Nathan takes a deep breath. He doesn't know why it should be like this. Audrey's right; it should be old hat by now, routine.

And yet it never is.

He's gentle putting the key in the lock, turning it over, opening the door. He wants his entrance to be a surprise. But when he steps through the door and is immediately pinned to the back of it by small, insistent hands and an even hungrier mouth, he knows he failed.

His first instinct is to stiffen against the assault, to shove the other man's body away and off him, to deny the want that surges up inside him and slam shut all the doors that lead from this strange and twisted heart of him to the outside.

Then he remembers he doesn't have to. Not here. He remembers and the hands that came up to thrust away, gather in instead, pulling the slight body into his, tilting his head and opening his mouth to the urgent push of tongue.

"God, what took you so long?" Peter asks, when the first horny teenage kiss is done and Nathan is breathless. Peter's cock slips against Nathan's with every agitated twitch of his body. "Feels like I've been waiting forever."

He looks like he might have come from straight from the hospital in dull teal scrub pants and a white vee-neck tee that shows off the length of his neck, his prominent collar bones. Nathan knows better, though; Peter has been bathed and oiled for Nathan's arrival. Peter wears this outfit because he knows it pleases Nathan to see him in it, to peel him out of it and then fuck him. These are the arrangements.

"Sorry," Nathan apologizes. "Meetings ran late."

He would say more about it, but Peter is already on his knees, undoing the button of Nathan's blazer, unbuckling his belt, unfastening Nathan's pants and pulling them—and Nathan's boxers—down to puddle around his ankles. It sort of derails his train of thought. Peter sort of derails his train of thought.

"Doesn't matter," Peter says, shaking his head. His fingers creep warm and grasping around the root of Nathan's cock as he looks up through the gleaming strands of his hair. "I'd wait as long as it took. It's my job, right? And you're paying enough for the privilege." Peter's eyes fall to regard Nathan's cock and Nathan groans softly, feeling that look like a touch. "And I do enjoy being good at my job."

His tongue dabs out, the pointed tip laving deep into Nathan's slit before retreating to swirl around the crown. Nathan grunts, the back of his head and his balled up fists hitting the door in something like unison. Peter's mouth parts wider in a grin around Nathan's shaft and then he's pulling back and off with a wet and messy slurp that makes Nathan's balls tighten.

"Can we get to the fucking?" Peter asks, eyes gleaming. "I already prepped myself for you." Nathan twitches and his eyes close at the mental image that summons; his little brother, slicked up and concentrating as his fingers fuck and scissor inside himself. For Nathan. Peter's chapped, wet mouth lips Nathan's cock again and Nathan's eyes rocket back open. "It's been a long time," Peter says and here, now, there's no acrimony in the words. "I've missed you fucking me."

Nathan falls to his knees and grabs for his brother. He doesn't know what part of Peter to touch first and so he tries to get to them all, his fingers threading through Peter's fine, longish hair, crushing his shoulders, skimming his shirt up to trace soft-hard abs, squeezing firm thighs and ass. Peter lets himself be manhandled and flung down to the rug, the same devil's tongue that was so recently wrapped around Nathan's cock stealing out to wet his thin lips. He's laughing without sound as Nathan strips him, strips himself and shoves his brother towards the enormous, turned down bed.

The first time, he always takes Peter from behind, on his belly or on his knees. Peter likes it better that way and Nathan refuses to think about the reasons why. The first time always goes fast anyway, the desperate attempt to make up for all the time he has to be doing other things, has to be with other people.

"Fuck," Peter hisses, head down and his knees swimming helplessly against the tide of sheets as Nathan sinks into him. His fingers bunch in the pillow above his head. "God, your cock. Did you get bigger when I wasn't looking?"

"You ask all your clients that?" Nathan pants, twisting his hips and plunging another inch deeper.

Peter inhales sharply, head coming up and Nathan wishes he could see Peter's face. "That kills you, doesn't it?" Peter asks. He sounds amused. He sounds angry. "The thought of me fucking other men?"

 _Yes,_ Nathan thinks, swiveling again, forcing his brother to open for him. _Yes._

"But what bothers you more, Nathan? The idea of me fucking other men or me fucking other men for _money_?"

It's always Nathan from Peter. On the rare occasion he has used 'sir', it's always mocking, barbed. Nathan guesses it would be even more ludicrous than it is, any other way, but he also knows that it makes Peter savagely happy on some level that Nathan will come here like this, to have his brother in this…place of business, if nowhere else. He likes that Nathan will pay to fuck him, and has, for years.

Nathan doesn't have to fake the growl that comes up from his belly. His thumbs spread Peter wider. His hips piston and Peter makes a noise like choking, even as he shoves back, the wiry muscles of his arms and shoulders rippling.

"How much do _you_ spend, Nathan?" Peter asks, letting go of the pillow to brace his hands against the headboard as Nathan thrusts again. "How much is a little brother's ass worth? How much to make him your whore?"

"You _are_ my whore," Nathan agrees grimly. "The key word there being _mine_."

The bed is too well built, the room too well thought out for the headboard to bang against the wall as Nathan picks up speed and force, but sometimes Nathan wishes this were a cheap, sordid motel so he could have that crashing punctuation to all of this.

"But, _little brother_ , ask yourself. Are you a whore for my money or are you just a whore for my cock?" Peter moans, deep and loud and it tingles across Nathan's skin like electricity, the license to be as loud, as debauched as they want.

"How much is it worth to _you_? How much money did they pay you for you to be here like this, taking your brother's cock? How much were you paid, to make it okay to fuck me?"

Peter's head turns so that Nathan can see his profile. Peter's eyes are closed, his mouth parted over his pants and gasps, wet and swollen. "Nothing," Peter answers, twisting back onto Nathan, twisting and clinging deep inside. "They didn't have to pay me anything."

It's unexpected, the admission and it goes right to Nathan's balls, making them jerk, tighten, and then he's clenched and emptying into Peter. Before he stops spasming, he reaches with shaking fingers under Peter's body to take Peter's cock in hand.

Peter's closer than he thought; Nathan barely touches him before Peter _twitches_ , sobs and spills, hard jetting spurts that scald Nathan's skin.

Nathan rolls them both sideways, his arms scooping to hold Peter against him, close to him. Peter makes another noise, not unlike the sound of his orgasm and curls into the curve of Nathan's body. It's one long, sleepy, sated kiss and then they're both tumbling down the rabbit hole and into sleep.

***

Nathan wakes on his back, with Peter sprawled across him. Nathan's hand covers the small of Peter's back, exactly where Heidi's vertebrae are useless and dead. He tries not to read too much into that, rousing enough to caress small circles against the fine, soft skin.

Peter stirs sleepily, the leg thrown across Nathan's thigh flexing slightly and his bitten fingernails scratching lightly across Nathan's ribs. It tickles, but Nathan has had years to teach himself not to react.

Nathan reflects on the irony that led to this arrangement; the irony that it is more acceptable—to their father, and certainly to the public, should they ever find out—for him to frequent a whorehouse than to love and make love with his own brother.

It was Nathan's idea, of course. Peter is all heart and a gut-deep courage that Nathan's dead sure he could never emulate but Nathan was the one who found a way, when they were both too old to be closeted up in rooms together without arousing suspicion and too far into things—and each other—to think of stopping.

Occasionally, he wonders what Audrey thinks of this, renting rooms to him and Peter for them to play these games, act out these roles. But it's only a brief thought. Mostly he doesn't care. Mostly he's grateful for this, the time and space to breathe and put aside all the other bullshit and be nothing but Nathan and Peter.

Peter _murps_ in his throat and Nathan realizes his hand has strayed from Peter's back down to his ass, his fingers circling Peter's opening, the tips dipping shallowly in the wetness of lube and come.

"Was it good?" Peter asks, muffled. His face is still half-buried in Nathan's chest, but Nathan feels his smile. "Was I a good whore?"

"Pete."

At Nathan's tone, Peter's eyes open all the way (his lashes tickle), and he tenses and starts to lift from Nathan's body. Nathan uses the flat of his hand to gentle him down again but Peter's eyes are wary, looking into his brother's. Nathan hates that it's like this with them, that they can't seem to stop hurting each other as much as they love each other. That they can't stop wanting to.

Nathan sighs. "You're not my whore, you know. I don't… You're not my whore. It's not like that."

Peter's smile is tired but it lightens the hollows of his eyes, lifts the pinched line of his mouth. "I know." His eyes flicker once before he buries it beneath a smile and eyelashes. "You can be the whore next time." He buries his face in the hollow of Nathan's neck a moment. Not kissing, just breathing against the skin. Then he pulls away and nods towards Nathan's arm. "How long do we have?"

Nathan looks at his watch for the first time since alighting from the car. "Not long."

Peter reaches for him. "Then I want to go again."

Nathan lets Peter push him all the way onto his back and straddle him. His still soft cock rides in the crease of Peter's ass; against his shaft, Peter feels hot, slick. Nathan moans softly and his hands come up to frame Peter's hips between them. Peter grins, crooked-charming, and peels Nathan's fingers away to stretch their twined arms up, over Nathan's head. Peter's not exceptionally tall; it's a stretch that throws his whole, slim body into prominence, brings his face down close to Nathan's as his hips roll, riding against Nathan's groin.

Nathan arches up, trying to capture Peter's mouth with his own, but Pete's playful again, teasing him with near-misses and feints. Teases him better with quick nips and licks to Nathan's neck, shoulders, pecs, while Nathan's wrists writhe in Peter's wiry grip.

"Pete," he says, when his cock has filled and swelled and every shift of his brother's body against it is an agony. " _Peter._ "

Peter shifts forward and then back. As he lets Nathan impale him, Peter's mouth slides down, panting his pleasure-pain into Nathan's mouth. Nathan's own cry is high-pitched and desperate, but he's used to feeling like this with Peter.

"So good, Nate," Peter whispers, his thighs clenching and moving as he rides his brother's cock. "Wish it was like this all the time. You in me. Wish it was forever."

"Pete—" Nathan says helplessly.

Peter shakes his head. "No. Don't, Nate." His fingers tighten on Nathan's wrists and then let go, slide down to Nathan's shoulders so he can rise up, seat more firmly, take Nathan deeper. His eyes are closed, shutting Nathan out. "It doesn't mean anything."

It does though. They both know it.

 _I'm sorry,_ he thinks, words he'll probably never say. Words he's not sure he'd feel safe saying, outside his own mind. _I'm sorry this is all I can give you. It's not enough. It's never enough._

He reaches up, flirts his palm across Peter's cheek. Peter's eyelids flinch but his smile widens and his hips never stop. With his other hand, Nathan wraps around Peter's cock, stroking, coaxing.

"It's just sex talk," Peter says, softer and finally his eyes open, dazzling as autumn leaves. "C'mon now, Nate. Harder. Fuck me harder." Peter turns his face and captures Nathan's thumb in his lips, sucking softly.

Nathan groans and obliges, struggling to concentrate less on the hot-smooth-slick feel of Peter's ass and more on Peter's cock, wanting to give Peter as much pleasure as he can from this. He drags just the tip of one manicured nail gentle-hard across the head and Pete cries out sharply, back arching, his body clenching in waves around Nathan's cock.

His fingers digging hard into Nathan's shoulders, Peter's face twists and then smoothes and Nathan thinks, _Flying. He looks like he's flying._

**Author's Note:**

> I blame the title on the fact that I keep sitting next to people reading the Bible when I'm writing brothercest on BART. It's like a _thing_. I blame the 'cest on Adrian Pasdar, who touches his little brother just a little _too much_.


End file.
